


A Different Kind of Sight

by KuroHikaTsuchi



Category: Daredevil (TV), Grimm (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroHikaTsuchi/pseuds/KuroHikaTsuchi
Summary: Matt had known for a long time that he was different. He just didn’t realizehowdifferent he was until he himself got into trouble. A trouble from Portland, Oregon to be precise.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Theresa Rubel
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32
Collections: Crossworks 2020





	A Different Kind of Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quin/gifts).



> Pre-series for Daredevil, mid-season 4 for Grimm.  
> I can't be the only one who thought Daredevil when Nick lost his sight, right?  
> I hope you enjoy this!

Matt always knew there was something different about him. Even beyond the enhanced senses from the accident, there was something that set him apart from the others. Something that made his grandmother mutter under her breath “Be careful of the Murdock boys. They got the devil in 'em.” 

He first started noticing it after Stick left. 

His senses had become more manageable since his lessons with Stick, as long as he concentrated properly. He still had moments when he was overwhelmed by everything happening around him and needed to hide away from the busy, noisy world in the safety of his room. But these moments became rarer as time went by. 

He just couldn’t shake away the feeling that _something_ was different. 

Every time he ventured outside, Matt forced himself to train his senses. He set himself objectives. Simple ones like listening to the conversation a lady a block away was having on the phone. Learning what that man in the deli had for breakfast earlier in the day. And difficult ones, like how many lies the girl from the music store said to her step-mother while grabbing brunch together. 

It helped him focus, it helped him take his mind off the fact that he was alone again. 

But most of all, it helped him ignore the fact that sometimes he heard things that didn’t make sense, things that couldn’t be real. 

It helped him tune out how the man who owned the second-hand shop on the corner of 10th and 54th made strange noises whenever he was scared. Almost like an animal squeaking. 

It helped him forget how Mrs. McLean two blocks south of the church roared like a beast at her husband whenever he came home late after staying out too late at the bar. And how he hissed back at her escalating the fight until they ended up almost coming to blows. The sound was so reptilian, he expected that if he could see, there would’ve been a forked tongue tasting the air. 

It helped him disregard the funky smell of wet dog coming from Mr. Perry whenever it rained even though he had never owned any pets. 

What he couldn’t put out of his mind, what he couldn’t just neatly forget it ever happened was the fact that the first time he removed his glasses in public because they kept sliding off his nose in the sweltering heat of the summer, a man he’d never met before looked at him, then fled in terror, begging for mercy. 

  
  
It wasn’t the last time it happened.  
  
  


He quickly learned that showing his eyes in public was a taboo, but only in front of some people. The old lady walking her toy-poodle in the park, the teenager smoking weed on the fire escape, even the drug dealer hanging out in an alleyway behind the laundromat. 

He still remembered how his dad used to assure him that his eyes still looked fine and even before his training with Stick, he knew it had to be the truth. His dad wouldn’t have lied to him. Not about that. 

The eye doctor certainly didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with his eyes whenever it was time for his yearly check-ups, always trying to cheer him up and even giving him a lollipop at the end of his visits. 

But still, there were people in the world who ran away from him, at the mere sight of his eyes. 

  
  
Later, when the screams he heard at night became too loud, the blaring sirens threatened to deafen him and the blood he could smell from several blocks away became nauseating, he would put on a mask. 

A mask to hide his identity. A mask to hide his eyes from the world. 

Or maybe, he would admit to himself in the dark solitude of his mind, a mask to protect the world from his eyes. 

  


* * *

  


"Hand me your wallet now, girlie, or I'll hurt you!" 

Matt had been walking home when he heard the tell-tale sound of a mugging in progress four blocks east of his current location. He took off in a run while casting his senses to try to get a bead on the situation. 

He could hear two voices. A rough male voice — South Jersey accent, mid-to-late thirties, low rasp of a smoker — and the second voice — a young woman, her accent was harder to place, probably well-travelled then. 

"Ugh, don’t you have better things to do? I've been having a shit day," was the disgruntled reply from the young woman. Her heartbeat was steady and she didn’t seem overly concerned by the situation she was in. 

He sped up as he felt the man rush forward, clutching something sharp in his hand (a knife or dagger perhaps). Matt sensed as the woman deflected the hand holding the knife with her forearm, forcing the mugger to drop it with a hiss of pain. She took advantage of this, punching him in the face and then kicking him in the chest in rapid succession. The mugger went down with a dull thud. 

That was when Matt arrived at the mouth of the alley, still holding his white cane on his right hand and only slightly out of breath. 

"I can see you have the situation well in hand," Matt huffed out with amusement. He felt the air shift as she turned towards him. 

"Yeah, just a mugger, you know," she replied nonchalantly. "Thanks for rushing in I guess." 

"Well I don't know how much help I would have been," he shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Not much use in a fight and my witness statement wouldn’t have been very useful if it came to that," Matt joked, indicating his face with his free hand. 

She chuckled and, with a jaunty _Bye, stranger_ , walked deeper into the alley, bending to pick up something on the ground. 

The mugger wasn't as out of it as he'd previously thought because he grabbed his discarded knife from the ground and tried to attack the young woman again. 

Matt cursed at his inattention and rushed after the mugger, discarding his cane in his pursuit. He caught him by the back of his tracksuit jacket before he could reach her. The man twisted in his hold, knife swinging wildly and his other hand catching him square in the face, knocking his glasses off. The mugger fought back some more before abruptly freezing in place. 

He heard the air shift characteristically as the robber trembled in his grasp. The scent of a mangy cat inexplicably wafted from the man. 

"You're a Grimm! Oh no, please don't kill me! Oh God! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't kill me!" 

Oh no, he's one of _those_. He’d been lucky before not to have any witnesses to his strange encounters. It seemed like his luck had finally run out. The woman had been drawn back in by the commotion and he could feel her gaze focus upon him. 

“So… you’re a Grimm too,” she started awkwardly. In the tense silence that ensured, the mugger took his chance in their distraction and ran away, tripping on a garbage bag. 

“... What’s a ‘grimm’? Do _you_ know why he said that to me?” 

“Shit, you don’t know? By your reaction, I’d say it’s not the first time it happened. You never wondered why random monsters attacked you on the streets? Or ran away screaming?” Her voice pitched higher, betraying her surprise. 

"You mean that it's real? It wasn’t all in my head? All those people, they really transformed into monsters?" 

“Yeah, they’re real. They’re called wesens. They’re creatures that only other wesens or Grimms can see. Like you. Like me.” 

“Oh…” Matt let out at last. His legs were straining to uphold his weight so he stopped trying, letting himself slide down the wall and sit down right there in the dirty alleyway. He stayed there for a few moments in silence as his entire worldview was upended. Again. He would have remained there for longer if his spiraling thoughts hadn’t been interrupted. 

“Come on, let’s get you back to your place. I can explain everything to you there,” the woman, the other ‘Grimm’, placed her hand on top of Matt’s, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m Theresa by the way, but you can call me Trubel.” 


End file.
